Trapped
by MeinBritishBroski
Summary: Every notable monster prefers to devour their prey while it is still very much alive. Warnings on the inside. Oneshot.


**pairing: **dark!Russia/Lithuania. Unrequited Lithuania/Poland  
><strong>warning: <strong>Mentions of self-harming, contemplation of suicide, molestation, rape, mentally unstable conditions, and abuse. Not historically accurate. Unedited.

I'm a horrible person for writing this.

* * *

><p><em>He thinks I'm asleep, <em>you think as you lie there in your bed with the sheets wrapped around your waist and his calloused fingers trace the outlines of your cheekbones. Despite the bone-chilling waves going through your flesh, you remain still, and you remain silent. You know he's drunk because you can smell it on his breath, you know he's tired because of the sweat on his ghost-white skin, you know he's much too close because you can practically taste the blood on his tongue.

_I don't want to know, _you think as you try to roll over and pretend like you don't know he's there. His hand, however, grabs your shoulder and prevents you from doing so. You crease your eyebrows and do not object. Your eyes are closed. You continue to pretend that you are sleeping in hopes that he will leave you - no longer do you have to worry about waking up Eduard or Raivis with your pitiful whimpering, but then there's the matter of having someone to stop him.

_Stop touching me, _you think as his hands dip below the sheets and begin to caress your sunken stomach. You can't remember the last time that you've eaten, but that is not in the foremost of your mind at this moment. You shudder violently, because his hands are cold, because _Ivan_ is cold, and drunk, and tired, and you want to just melt into your sheets and disappear so he can never touch you again. So he can never hurt you.

His hand disappears, and though the air around you is cold, it is much warmer than he will ever be. You open your eyes and he is gone, gone, gone, gone, _gone._

Somewhere in the back of your mind you are aware that he is a mere child wandering through a strangers house. This stranger borrows his body and hurts his comrades and is not so much a stranger but a trusted, manipulating friend. Ivan has the mindset of a child. A horrible, horrible child who leaves rich purple marks made by mouth and metal over every inch of skin he can reach. You don't forgive him, but you can't blame him, either. If he needs an outlet for his lust and his grief and his overwhelming anger and guilt - it might as well be you.

No matter how many times you put on the rope-necklace there will always be something stopping you. No matter how many times you line up the pills or drink the burning liquid, there is always someone holding you back and petting your hair and whispering_ 'don't'_. You listen. You've been trained to listen.

_Don't you dare cry, Toris, _you think as you pull the covers up to your chin and roll over, the mattress creaking because it is so worn. You wince, remembering why it's so rickety. Why it's so weak. Just like you.

You are his, but he will never, under any circumstances, be yours.

Your eyes sting, because you are remembering. The one time Raivis ended up on the wrong side of the house at a very, _very _wrong time; and he was being touched and he was trembling and weeping because he was being so utterly violated. _He was only a child, just a poor sweet child. _You had no choice but to pry Ivan away and yell at him, and then not protest when he turned around and began doing those things to you, only much more violently, almost harshly possessive. Eduard took Raivis back to the room they shared and you were left at the wrong side of the house at a very, _very _wrong time.

You supposed you didn't mind taking the bullet if it meant keeping the others safe. If it meant being an outlet, a stress-reliever. Even if you had no one of your own and the one you wanted comfort from was completely oblivious. You didn't mind hurting around the clock. You didn't mind the self-harm addiction and the smell of alcohol or the rough touches. You were strong. You would take one for the team.

Even if it meant you were trapped with a monster at the wrong side of the house at a very, _very _wrong time.


End file.
